


In Fiery Defense

by SnubbingApollo



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Protectiveness, barfight, transphobic language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-12
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 07:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3927418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnubbingApollo/pseuds/SnubbingApollo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Well, that’s about my limit, how about you?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Fiery Defense

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thekingofcarrotflowers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingofcarrotflowers/gifts).



> For this prompt on tumblr: Or or what about Dorian getting into a bar brawl when someone is harassing Krem?

The tavern was loud and crowded and Dorian found himself missing the comparative quiet of the Herald’s Rest. At least there the patrons had a modicum of decorum, barbaric and Southern though they might be. The Chevalier outpost they were currently occupying appeared to be manned with nothing but brutes, braggarts, and sods.

And of course it all got worse when Krem walked in. Not for Dorian, obviously, the sight of his lover being a sure way to brighten his mood no matter how foul, but at the sight of him the rabble became louder and even more abrasive. 

Their party had been using the outpost as a way station, a place to resupply and a much appreciated night in real beds before continuing their journey. By coincidence or cosmic joke the night they had chosen to stay there was also the night the bloody High Dragon that had been hounding the area had decided the outpost was most likely full of delicious snacks that must be devoured immediately. Their night of rest was turned into a night of impromptu Dragon slaying, a task made that much harder by the fact that they were all in their _night clothes_.

They had of course been victorious, the Inquisitor had made Dragon slaying something of a hobby and this had hardly been their first go. Dorian likes to think they’ve got in down to something of an art at this point. The Chevaliers, currently behaving with a bawdiness that had no place at a _breakfast table_ , would likely have all been slaughtered without them. They’d barely made it out of their barracks before the beast was felled. Not exactly a crack force which may explain why they were all stationed in the ass crack of nowhere up in the bloody mountains.

Krem himself had struck the killing blow. Unfortunately, as previously mentioned, there hadn’t exactly been time to change into their armor before fighting, or for Krem to put a shirt on. It had been quite a sight to see, the man all but bashing a Dragon’s head in with that ludicrously massive club of his, shirtless and covered in blood that had sprayed on him from the Iron Bull’s ax swings. It’s a good thing the battle had been over relatively quickly, as Dorian had found himself somewhat distracted by the view.

The Chevaliers, however, had taken something else away from the sight entirely. As soon as Krem enters the tavern he’s greeted by a chorus of catcalls and hollers. The man tenses visibly but sets his shoulders and walks proudly across the room to where Dorian and Blackwall are sitting. He takes a seat next to Dorian and the mage slides his plate over to share his eggs and sausage. Krem flashes him a strained smile and starts to eat though without his usual gusto.

“Hey, how come you dress like that, Sweetheart?” one of the louts calls from the table behind them. Blackwall sends him a vicious glare over Dorian’s shoulder but it does nothing to quell him. “Bet you’d look real pretty in a dress.”

“Look real pretty out of it, too,” Another man chimes in, followed by a cacophony of laughter. Krem’s shoulders curl in a little more and he stares at the food on the plate with a determined glare. He’s not planning on reacting. Dorian shifts a little closer to him, pressing their sides together. When the fuck is the Bull going to get here? Big hulking seven foot tall qunari sitting next to Krem, that’d shut them up.

“Hey, Honey, I bet I could make you feel like a woman again!” the first man yells again. Dorian meets Blackwall’s murderous glare.

“Well, that’s about my limit, how about you?” He asks in a deceptively pleasant voice. Blackwall gives him a nod and they stand together, the warrior rounding on the man standing closest to him and punching him right in his smirking, laughing face. Dorian spins to face the man who’d been talking. He elbows one of the bastard’s friends in the nose sending him sprawling before grabbing the smug little shit by the hair and slamming the side of his face into the table. With his free hand he let’s loose a blaze of fire into the table right in front of the man’s widened eyes, not close enough to do any real damage, maybe singe his eyebrows a bit, but the man whimpers appealingly in response. Across the room Blackwall has just finished kneeing a man who will never have children in the groin and the tavern has fallen deathly silent except for the terrified moaning of Dorian’s pinned and slightly singed friend.

“This man saved all of your miserable lives last night!” Dorian yells into the silence pointing at Krem. “You would all be dead if not for him.” He leans down towards his captive pressing his face harder into the table. ”Show some _respect_.” he spits viciously, loud enough to carry to the rest of the trash. Then he tightens his grip on the man’s hair and grabs the back of his shirt, tossing him bodily into several of the tavern’s other patrons.

Job done, he and Blackwall calmly retake their seats and resume eating in the silence that follows as though nothing at all had happened. Krem is still staring at the plate but there’s a large smile on his face now. He bumps Dorian with his shoulder and flashes Blackwall a grateful glance that the man pretends he doesn’t see.

A little while later when the Bull finally walks in, Lavellan striding behind him, though with some measure of difficulty Dorian notices, the tavern is still quiet. The qunari takes a seat next to Krem and arches an eyebrow at the way the man is leaning into the mage.

“Aw, aren’t you two cute,” he says fondly as he snags a biscuit from the basket in the middle of the table. His voice practically echoes in the silent room. He looks around confused. “Somebody die in here?”

“What happened to that table?” Lavellan asks, eyeing the blackened and gently smoking structure.

“It was talking trash, your Worship,” Krem says glancing at Dorian conspiratorially out of the corner of his eye. Blackwall scoffs and visibly has to restrain his laughter. Dorian just flashes the Inquisitor his best charmingly mysterious smile and wraps and arm around Krem’s shoulders. The elf and the qunari share a look of bafflement before the Bull gives a shrug of his ludicrously large shoulders and returns to his food.

The tavern is blissfully quiet when Dorian leans over and gives Krem a kiss and it stays that way even when Krem buries his hands in Dorian’s hair and turns it hard and heated. Well, except for the Iron Bull's hooting, of course, but that’s alright.


End file.
